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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672512">Mile-High Dragons</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mt_lyfe/pseuds/mt_lyfe'>mt_lyfe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Domestic Life of A Dragon [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Airplanes, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Attempt at Humor, Crack, Don't copy to another site, Dragon Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Meet-Cute, Panic Attacks, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Werewolf Derek Hale, dragon smoke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:47:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,855</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672512</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mt_lyfe/pseuds/mt_lyfe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p> Derek suddenly breaks out in a cold sweat, 10,000 feet and climbing higher, entering Zeus’ domain, his epiphany comes a little too late: <em> Werewolves were not meant to fly.</em><br/></p>
</blockquote>Or: I've managed to fit weed, werewolves and dragons into the same story. Now as a two-shot!
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Domestic Life of A Dragon [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804507</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>273</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Airplanes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The titles are getting worse and worse. What is grammar? What is punctuation?</p><p><strong>EDIT:</strong> Fic title change. You know it's a horrible title when it's the same name as what's on your doc. Finally thought of something else.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Flying for the first time can be quite exciting but this is overkill; you're going to traumatize the other passengers.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles Stilinski had never ridden on an airplane in his life. He did not trust an airplane to do the flying. Except he had a broken collarbone from flying into a tree, so for the first time in his life he had to deal with things like passports, immigration officers and those blasted ‘No Smoking’ signs hanging everywhere inside the airport terminal. All things that were previously meaningless to a were-dragon.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>Derek Hale hated people. That’s why he lived outside the city limit by the preserve surrounded by greenery, away from the light pollution and alongside animals that didn’t know how to use sarcasm. He reveled in the vast openness that was Nature and basked in solitude.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>Stiles couldn’t wait until he got on the plane and was back feeling the wind on his face at 40,000 feet in the air where all dragons belonged. He had been miserably grounded since his accident and was itching to fly. He thought he’ll treat himself for once. First-class baby! Boy did he splurge on this ticket. Maybe he’ll even enjoy taking a break from flapping his wings, sit back and let someone else steer for once. He couldn’t <em>wait</em> to breathe fresh air again.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>He hated how trapped living in the city made him feel, the tall buildings and being in close confinement with people who weren’t pack. So why did he feel the need to lock himself in a plane crowded with nothing but people? His sisters said he needed a break, a change of pace, take a vacation somewhere far, far away from the United States. Japan sounded like a good idea, the cherry blossoms would be in full bloom this spring and the only way to see it was to fly.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><em>The windows didn’t even open.</em> How was he supposed to get fresh air? His claustrophobia was kicking in. He didn’t want to breath the same recycled air as all these people. <em>He paid too much money for the ticket to breathe recycled air!</em> He was starting to get nervous jitters and the perpetual eternal furnace within his body really needed to breathe. It couldn’t get any worse right?</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>The plane starts rolling down the runway. The roaring of the engine is <em>loud</em>, Derek doesn’t know how any werewolf can stand it. Two babies start crying as the plane picks up speed. The passenger next to Derek has already pulled on their face mask and is out like a light, head lolled to one side. There’s a patch of drool soaking into Derek’s shoulder, he’s going to have to burn this shirt later. How can people <em>sleep</em> through this?</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>He was wrong. Dead wrong. So, <em>so</em> wrong. Stiles knew that humans were imperfect creatures, that’s why they had to rely on a metal contraption to fly. But this? He wasn’t prepared for this. The flight attendant is standing in the aisle doing a live demonstration of evacuation procedures in case of an emergency to go along with the video he’s currently viewing. These things could fail?!</p><p>That didn’t bode well at all. That did not instill confidence when the first thing they tell you on board a plane is how to prepare for an emergency. Humans are flawed, which means this plane is flawed. Which means he’s going to die! This is the day he’s going to die, and if he’s going out, he wants to go out in a blaze of flaming— let’s eat all the complementary peanuts first.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>Someone down the aisle starts coughing loudly. Derek clamps down on the urge to punch a hole through the wall. People who coughed without covering their mouths should be systematically voted out by the crew. Death by being ejected out of the airlock was a great idea. The makers of Among Us knew what’s up. Next time, Derek decides, if he wants to go on vacation, he’ll just <em>run </em>there<em>.</em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>Being in an enclosed space long-term was something Stiles never experienced before. He’s getting nervous and scared. The plane is a bit shaky as it accelerates down the runway. It doesn’t compel Stiles to feel confident in this metal bird’s ability to fly at all. The smoke’s building up in his lungs and he really needed to clear his throat. <em>Whose bright idea was it to seal the windows?! </em>Coughing out smoke in front of humans was going to land him a one-way ticket inside a tiny, locked room in a foreign country, in close proximity with immigration officers and an unwanted cavity check looking for a smoking bomb. No, just <em>no</em>.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>There’s a slight bump as the wheels fold in. The plane is airborne, and the pressure hurts his sensitive ears. The engine roaring is louder than ever as it shoots up into the sky. Derek suddenly breaks out in a cold sweat, 10,000 feet and climbing higher, entering Zeus’ domain, his epiphany comes a little too late: <em>Werewolves were not meant to fly.</em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>It was sealed metal container of a deathtrap and he was going to <em>choke</em> on his own fumes or <em>die </em>falling out of the sky!</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>Derek could do this. He could totally make it through the twelve hours flight to Japan. He had survived getting his intestines ripped out he could survive this.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>Maybe Stiles wasn’t going to die. If this life-hazard of a machine was shot down, everyone else might die. Stiles thinks he can manage to glide on one good wing; dragon bones were hollow; he could break his fall via the fluffy clouds. It’s going to be all okay he rationalizes to himself.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>Who was he kidding? Ten minutes into the flight and he was on the verge of breaking down. He’d already shredded one complimentary blanket and had the pillow stuff into his jaws to stave off howling in fear. He’d shuttered the window to avoid looking down into 20,000 feet of vast emptiness with no hint of greenery in sight. He could <em>not</em> do this.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>Oh Hey! The restroom was a private space! He’ll go and clear his lungs in relative privacy without disturbing anyon—<em>There was such a thing as smoke detectors in the lavatory</em>?!</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>He needed a distraction; he checked his back pocket and yes! He still had it. Immigration didn’t catch him sneaking in a small vial of liquid wolfsbane, now he just had to grab a drink from the flirty flight attendant and he’ll shut himself in the lavatory, drink himself into a stupor and forget about all the stupid decisions that led him to being airborne.</p><p>Derek reaches the closed lavatory door only to find that it is occupied, he smells smoke and that causes his stress to skyrocket. The last thing he needs is to be stuck in the same space as a pyromaniac –<em>he refused to die on this plane! </em>—He rips the door open.</p><p>The least likely looking figure to play with fire is staring back at him with large golden-brown eyes. His lithe frame is dwarfed by a baggy red hoodie and loose-fitting jeans, a hand is clutching his mouth trying to hold in the tendrils of smoke streaming out, the other arm is in a sling.</p><p>Was this guy trying to smoke in a non-smoking zone?</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>There’s a hot hunk of a werewolf bursting into the lavatory and Stiles doesn’t think, he just reacts and grabs the guy, jerking his chin upwards. He’s slightly taller than the muscular werewolf and smashes their lips together. The knot in his chest unravels and he <em>breathes out. </em>It’s a freaking relief.</p><p><br/>
Derek’s lungs are filled with spicy applewood smoke, it’s nothing like the putrid odor of cigarettes that lingers at every bus stop and street corner. Before he knows it, he’s pressing them both against the wall in the crowded compartment and has his face buried into the long pale neck pulling at the scent of wet pine trees, campfire smoke that reminds him of the bonfires the pack has during the solstice, and the hint of wet earth. Inhaling that scent he’s able to convince himself that he’s surrounded by forestry and solid ground, not 40,000 feet up in Zeus’ territory locked inside an airborne deathtrap.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>Two socially awkward supernatural creatures hiding in an airplane lavatory together. They bond over a poker game on top of the toilet lid which is preferable to facing the other passengers. First-class was worth it after all. They had a real sink, small but elegant shower and even fluffy towels! They were <em>never</em> leaving this room.</p><p>There’s someone knocking incessantly on the lavatory door. “I really gotta go!” Someone cries on the other side.</p><p>“Occupied!” Stiles yells back. He pours them another drink.</p><p>They go back to their poker game with shots lined up on the sink. Wolfsbane-laced liquor doesn’t affect dragons, but it does add an interesting flavour to the drink. At least they could get drunk and panic in solidarity.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>There’s more knocking on the door, “Excuse me, is everything alright? There’s been complaints from the passengers. Smoking is prohibited.”</p><p>Derek yanks the door open to growl at the attendant, “it’s a medical emergency,” and slams the door in their face.</p><p>“Damn right,” Stiles crows. He grabs Derek’s shirt and yanks him forward, sealing their lips. Smoky tendrils curl out between their lips as their tongues lazily twine together. The smoke detector is dangling by a single wire above their heads.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>They spent the entire flight locked in the lavatory drinking themselves into a stupor.</p><p>“Hey, my cast comes off in two weeks, how about I give you a lift back?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>Japan was just as amazing as it looks in the travel magazines. All too soon it was time to go home. Neither of them buy a return ticket.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Green Thumb</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Weed. And Dragons. I wrote more of it.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whoohoo~ I made it! Last fic for the year and that concludes my first year of writing fanfic! I want to thank everyone who has commented, kudo'd, subscribed and supported me. I read and treasure every comment! I am still astounded by all the positive responses and it has encouraged me to keep writing. Thank you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Stop smoking in the fucking room, I <em>told</em> you I hate the smell!” Derek snarled at his packmate Isaac, but it was all for naught. Isaac was currently high up in the clouds and <em>gone.</em> Nothing Derek said now would get through his weed-clouded brain.</p><p>It was Derek’s fault anyways for throwing out Isaac’s pot stash in a fit of unjustified anger. It was the good stash too, according to Isaac’s incessant complaints. Well, as good as a student could afford. So now he was getting back at Derek by smoking in their shared apartment with the extra crappy stash which had a sharp acrid scent that made Derek’s nose sting and his eyes water.</p><p>Which meant Derek would have to apologize by replacing what he threw away or he’d be inconsolable and continue with his antics. He was a little shit like that. With another snarl he stepped over Isaac’s prone body to throw open the window and air out the room, tamping down on the urge to toss Isaac out from the fifth floor. But no, he can’t, because dead packmates meant no pack.</p><p>He snatched his jacket off the back of his desk chair before storming out, passive-aggressively hoping that Isaac would catch a cold from the afternoon chill even though it was summer, and Isaac was a werewolf.</p><p>Time to go buy some weed.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>Currently, there were many urban legends floating about in the University town where Derek lived. The cafeteria secretly added crack to the food so students would pay the overpriced fees despite being broke and should be eating minute noodles, there was a coffee-stealing dragon inhabiting the sixth-floor dormitory and much, much recently, there was one for buying weed. It was rumored that there existed a cabin near the Horticulture building greenhouses where magical weed was grown.</p><p>It was even better than the weed sold by the shady leprechaun that drove into town every week wearing a dark trench coat. But to this day, no one could find the building. Whoever this new supplier was on campus, put Mr. Shady Trench Coat out of business.</p><p>Derek walked down the beaten path toward the greenhouses. Off to the side, there was a little dirt path mostly covered by overgrowth that the general populace was unaware of. It was there that he veered off the main road following a twisty winding trail through a small grove of trees. The sunlight peeked through the thick canopy of leaves overhead, and Derek welcomed the small relief that the shade provided from the summer heat. Soon the trail widens, and a little cabin came into view.</p><p>Not many ever make it this far to find the hidden building. It’s a little beaten wooden cabin with a spacious front porch surrounded by a rickety fence covered with vines. The garden was teeming with green life, well-cared for in neat rows.</p><p>No one would mistaken it for a vegetable garden even if they knew nothing about plants; the finger-like leaf pattern that lined the rows was very distinctive.</p><p>Derek could see someone tending to the garden on their hands and knees.</p><p>He felt the shiver down his spine as he passed through the magical barrier that kept the garden hidden from the student populace and unlatched the metal gate. It creaked. Stiles hadn’t noticed him yet; he was on his hands and knees crawling through each row of plants making a mess of his clothes again.</p><p>There were balls of icy blue fox fire and golden dragon fire floating overhead, casting an eerie glow over the whole patch. It had taken a while for them to get the right amount of substitute lighting. Too far and the plants wouldn’t absorb the pseudo sunlight, too close and well, things started burning.</p><p>Dragons and foxes had an affinity with nature. Both research loving creatures of the earth got along well. Kira wanted her research to do good for the supernatural community, to boost the already present natural remedies found in plants while Stiles had well... goals that were less altruistic and more ‘let’s grow some weed with magic!’</p><p>Boosting the hallucinogenic properties of marijuana and mushrooms and then selling it to the student population. What college student would say no to a bit of psychedelic stress relief? It was for the greater good! You couldn’t say that their goals weren’t the same right?</p><p>Stiles loss track of time whenever he was in the zone. Knee-walking through the row checking on each individual plant, crooning words of praise. Derek could hear something that definitely sounded like: “You’re going to make me so much money my little weed babies,” and “that’s right, suck up that sunlight.”</p><p>It was ridiculous, the things that came out of Stiles’ mouth.</p><p>He was still shuffling through the dirt when Derek walked up to him and Stiles bumped headfirst into his jean-clad legs.</p><p>It was like watching a slow-motion scene when Stiles finally realized he wasn’t alone and he did a slow sweep upwards, craning his long neck until he locked eyes with Derek.</p><p>Stiles was undeniably high on his own product again and it smelt like mushrooms this time. His pupils were dilated and mouth hanging open slightly. Derek could smell the hint of arousal and guessed that Stiles’ jumpy brain was having vivid psychedelic fantasies involving the two of them in the garden.</p><p>“Stiles.” Derek cut through his daydreams. “You’re spacing out again.”</p><p>Stiles snapped back to reality and scrambled to his feet, dusting of his dirt-stained jeans. “I was trying out some of the new crossbreeds of mushrooms, this one makes people see <em>auras</em>. But that’s not all!” He grabbed Derek’s arm, towing him inside, “there’s something new I discovered!”</p><p> </p><hr/><p>How Stiles came to own his own business while still in college happened purely by accident. He had a habit of going off the deep end whenever he did research, which didn’t help his jumpy brain at all when he started on one subject then hopped to another. He came out of his research spirals so far-off topic on something so unrelated that it would baffle those who weren’t familiar with his tendencies to jump from one topic to another like a bunny sampling crack on a carrot.</p><p>So it started as anything did, when pertaining to Stiles, with research. It was, innocently enough or not so innocently if one knew Stiles well, a chemistry paper at the beginning of the term. The original topic being something that Stiles couldn’t recall now but had gotten him sidetracked, taking a sharp left turn and a nosedive into the black hole of Wikipedia, leading him to looking into the chemical compounds of poisonous mushrooms and then finding out that some people had homegrown mushrooms!</p><p>Derek long used to his boyfriend’s habits had to bust into his dorm room after his three-day streak of reading about mushrooms and drag him out of his research binge to make sure he got some sunlight and stuff him full of sustenance that wasn’t coffee or liquorice sticks. Then Stiles presented him with his research findings: Magic Mushrooms.</p><p>People grew them as a hobby! And with stacks and stacks of paperwork detailing the pros and cons of having your own herb garden, he <em>had </em>to put his theories to the test.</p><p>After Derek made sure he was properly fed and watered, Stiles was let loose again on his mushroom-focused frenzy. His dorm was filled from floor to ceiling with clear plastic containers of start-your-own-homegrown-mushrooms kit that he got off Craigslist.</p><p>It was both an exciting and fearsome experience as Stiles soon discovered when he almost lost his first batch of mushrooms to the evil known as bacteria. Then he discovered that dragon fire made an excellent disinfectant, leading him to find out he had a <em>hidden talent. </em>He had a green thumb! And <em>damn</em> was the thumb green. Growing mushrooms in his dorm room was no longer a viable long-term option.</p><p>A little more research let him to meet Kira, a nine-tail fox who was a grad student doing her thesis on the effects of supernatural influences on mundane plants. She was looking for a research assistant and in exchange, along with a little charisma and persuasion, Stiles convinced her to change her topic so that it focused on <em>marijuana</em>, because when you had an innate talent, you nurtured it with the love and care it deserved by giving it a backyard weed grow-op funded by a legitimate research grant, and operated on school property.</p><p>All in the name of <em>Science.</em></p><p>Stiles did not do anything half-assed, and that was how he unwittingly became the school’s newest drug dealer.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>The inside of the cabin was smoky, but not suffocating to his senses. It was more of a light natural incense, probably sandalwood and Stiles’ personal earthy scent. Derek quite liked it and there was no trace of the acrid marijuana scent at all.</p><p>They’re pleasantly buzzed on the couch when Stiles spoke up, “Hey Der can I try something?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>He doesn’t expect it but welcomed it anyways when Stiles leaned over and pressed their lips together.</p><p>Derek zeroed all his senses onto those lips against his, they’re soft and warm. A tongue slipped through to coax his lips open and there was deep inhale followed by a slow exhale.</p><p>Derek’s lungs were filled with smoke and he tried not to choke. Stiles moved away and placed a soft hand over his mouth. “Hold it in. That’s it. Now let it out.”</p><p>Derek started to feel lighter and his muscles relaxed as his body absorbed the weed-smoke that smelled like spice rather than the usual bitter cloying scent.</p><p>His mind started to drift off and take a trip down memory lane, back to how they’d first met.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>It started, as many things did, with a cup of coffee in the morning.</p><p>Derek was taking a stroll around the university campus, coffee in hand, right before dawn to avoid running into anyone. The university town was often noisy with thousands of students living on or near campus and the weekends filled with parties, the noise travelling through the night, but it was times like this during the hours of 4-5AM when the last party dwindled and the early risers weren’t quite awake yet, that there was blessed peace and quiet. He reveled in the silence.</p><p>It wasn’t quite dawn. Bare rays of sunlight started to peak over the horizon and the track field he used for his morning walks was empty, just how he liked it. Well almost, there was another jogger with their dog, and a lone student milling by the other end of the field. That was fine, as long as no one tried to start a conversation with him. He continued his brisk stroll.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>Derek was being followed. There was no two ways about it. That guy in the red hoodie who was on the other side of the field walked off campus at the same time he did as he headed back home. Derek growled. Not another stalker.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>A weight slumped against his back. He didn’t even sense his stalker speeding up. He spun around with preternatural speed ready to attac—the culprit was headed face first into the pavement. Derek caught the deadweight that had been faceplanted onto his back just in time.</p><p>Shit. Did this guy just die on him? It was too early to deal with a dead body, especially one that he didn’t make dead.</p><p>There was a weak groan coming from the corpse, “coffee...”</p><p>Okay. No, not dead. Just lacking the motor functions to stand. Huh?</p><p>“I could smell it while I was trying to break into the cafeteria.”</p><p>What. That was on the other side of campus.</p><p>“Spare some coffee?” A weak hand started pawing at his arm trying to grab hold of his tumbler. “Just let me drink the fumes...”</p><p>Derek instinctively raised it out of his reach.</p><p>“Or even the coffee grinds will do... the cafeteria is closed, and I need <em>coffee</em>,” the figure moaned feebly.</p><p>Large golden-brown eyes looked up to meet his. Derek’s free hand that wasn’t holding his coffee out of reach was used to pin both of the boy’s wrists together to keep those grabby hands far away from his drink.</p><p>He glared down at the would-be coffee thief, close crop brown hair, and pale skin. He was drowning in a baggy red hoodie and faded jeans.</p><p>His wrists are too thin, Derek thought, and in a moment of weakness, he caved and invited a complete stranger into his den for coffee and breakfast. Something he’d never done before.</p><p>Rejuvenated and rehydrated, the were-dragon—<em>Stiles—</em>which <em>still</em> didn’t explain his extraordinary sense of smell—but only pertaining to coffee<em>—</em>easily filled the silence between them by regaling him with a two-hour long rant on varying topics, one of which included the effects of cocaine on bees, which, surprisingly, Derek couldn’t say he’d mind listening to. Stiles was bright and vibrant with the scent of fresh earth after a rainfall and Derek was entranced.</p><p>Stiles had to rush out when he realized he was running late for class, nearly braining himself on the door post. Derek walked with him as far as the campus entrance because he was afraid of Stiles somehow tripping and dying on his property and they parted ways, Derek thinking he’d done his good Samaritan act for the decade.</p><p>Big mistake.</p><p>Derek should have consulted his bestiary before letting a dragon into his home. That section should have been highlighted in bright red, bolded, and then underlined for good measure.</p><p>Feed a cat once, it’ll come back for seconds. Feed a dragon once and he’ll bust into your house and appropriate your coffee maker along with everything you own in the name of love.</p><p>Now he was stuck taking care of a dragon who frequently forgot to eat, and Derek painstakingly made sure his diet didn’t solely consist of sugar and caffeine.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>“You like that? See, I knew it would work.”</p><p>Derek’s mind jolted back to the present. He was still lying on the sofa with Stiles settled on his lap, enticing sinful hands braced on top of his broad chest. Derek knew his pupils were probably dilated.</p><p>He’d never paid that much attention to the ceiling before, but it was <em>fucking interesting.</em></p><p>All his attention was focused on the woodwork. Everything was so much more exciting when it was broadcasted in HD. He could see the individual grain pattern of each wooden beam and he had never been more absorbed in woodwork than he was now.</p><p>“How is it?”</p><p>Derek’s gaze shifted from the ceiling to Stiles’ face.</p><p>
  <em>Oh. </em>
</p><p>He was wrong.</p><p>The sun was starting to set and it casted a light shadow into the cabin. The evening air was warm with the occasional breeze blowing through the open window and the sound of cicadas chirping in the distance faded. Suddenly all of Derek’s senses were dialed in on the one thing in front of him: <em>Stiles’ moles. </em></p><p>In that moment, he knew what it felt like to switch from watching on a fuzzy Tube-TV to a Plasma 60-inch Flatscreen. This was what they looked like in HD standing out in stark <em>high</em> quality <em>high</em> contrast to his pale skin. Derek wanted to lick each one individually.</p><p>“Derek? <em>Derek!” </em></p><p>“Huh?” How long had he been staring for? Stiles was watching him with mischievous golden-brown eyes. He felt like he could <em>drown</em> in them.</p><p>“It might be a bit much for the first time,” Stiles admitted. This is a lot stronger than the other stuff I grow because it’s mixed with my magic. Side effect of combining weed and dragon magic.” There was a twinkle in Stiles’ eye that was thinking of all the creative ways they could shotgun his weed-flavoured dragon smoke.</p><p>“This better not be the reason you’re so popular with the buyers,” Derek grumbled.</p><p>“Don’t be jealous, this is a private event. Exclusive to Sourwolves only, now come here and kiss me again.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p>It was getting late, so they’d ordered in rather than get off the couch.</p><p>Pizza. Pizza and weed were the best.</p><p>“You have something on your face.” Derek found he <em>loved </em>staring at Stiles’ face.</p><p>“Where? Here?” Stiles wiped half-heartedly at his chin.</p><p>“No, here.” Derek leaned over and licked the pizza sauce off the corner of his lip before slumping back onto the couch. “Now give me some more,” he yanked at Stiles’ shirt, dragging him on top.</p><p>Stiles pressed their lips together and breathed out another plume of smoke.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>He didn’t know how many minutes passed while he spent stroking Stiles’ side and staring at his moles.</p><p>He wanted to kiss Stiles again.</p><p>“Wait,” Stiles took a swig of homemade cider before leaning back down to twine their tongues together.</p><p>Derek’s lungs expanded dutifully inhaling the smoke and held it in before puffing it back out in the form of lazy swirling smoke rings. “It’s different. Spicier.”</p><p>“Oh man, you make my knees <em>weak </em>with that kind of talent. Did I know your tongue could do that? What else can you do with that mouth? Show me. <em>Woo me.</em>”</p><p>Derek snorted and leaned in close, their noses touching and lips barely brushing. “You already know what I can do with my mouth,” he murmured.</p><p>Stiles closed the distance between them and exhaled another lungful of smoke.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>Isaac was sober by the time he got back. Now Derek was the one with ruffled hair and bloodshot eyes. He reeked of sex and smoke.</p><p>Isaac looked up when he entered, looking just as healthy as when Derek left. Damn his passive-aggressive tactics didn’t work. He tossed the bag of weed in his direction before shrugging off his leather jacket. There was a slight tear in his Henley because Stiles could be a little careless with his claws when he was overexcited.</p><p>Isaac noticed as he caught the bag and took a deep invasive sniff. Grinning widely because <em>of course</em> he wasn’t going to let it slide, “<em>Derek,</em> if you didn’t have the funds you could have asked. You didn’t have to sleep with your dealer if you couldn’t afford to get high.”</p><p>Derek rolled his eyes, “that’s not what happened.”</p><p>Isaac took another deep sniff and promptly sat up. “What the hell man! That’s the good stuff you’ve been smoking! How did you convince Stiles to sell you the good stuff! He doesn’t sell that to anyone!”</p><p>He continued staring at Derek in awe, “the one other time I smelled it, I didn’t even see him smoke it! And he wouldn’t even show us what the stash looked like! We got high off inhaling the fumes from ten feet away! Just the <em>fumes </em>Derek! How did you even convince him to sell to you! I thought you didn’t even smoke, you threw my stash away! Is that what it takes? To get the good stuff? Do I have to put out too?”</p><p>“I smoke,” Derek growled out. “You just buy the shitty stuff that reeks.”</p><p>“Student budget man!”</p><p>“Don’t buy the cheap shit anymore.”</p><p>“You reek of sex! And you’re buying all my weed from now on!” Isaac called after Derek as he headed into the shower.</p><p>Perks of having an eccentric boyfriend.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have a <a href="https://mtlyfe.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>. Fandom friends would be great.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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